What Evil Remains
by daccu65
Summary: Not all evils in Middle Earth fell with Sauron. Aragorn and his allies must face one that remains, as well as take a close look at themselves.
1. Chapter 1

_Dear potential reader:_

 _Please note that I do not own any of the characters appearing in this tale. They are owned by the estate of JRR Tolkien. I did not seek profit in writing this tale, I wrote for the enjoyment of writing and hopefully your enjoyment in reading. That said, please enjoy my offering:_

* * *

Morning had come to Osgiliath and with it, a decision. Captain Dossarch well remembered his king's command but he knew Elessar's intent, as well. For this reason, he felt no guilt for ordering his column to march eastward along the Ithilduin. His sergeant, a hard-bitten campaigner of low birth, did not care much for his decision.

"Speak clearly, Larsh," Dossarch commanded the man. "I mislike this grumbling."

"I say that I mislike not following King Aragorn's command, m'lord," the scarred man replied.

"It is on my authority," the captain reminded him. "And we follow the king's orders."

"His orders were to cross the great river at Osgiliath and turn south to reinforce Prince Faramir's host in the Emyn Arnen." The sergeant reminded him. "Patrolling and routing any enemy we find on the way."

"That is what we're doing," the captain insisted.

"Begging your pardon, m'lord, then why are we marching east rather than south?"

"Because we're routing enemy we've found," the captain told him. "The survivors from the orc raid said that the foe had fled up the river. If we turn south and join with the prince, the orcs will escape through the forest and into the mountains."

"Safer for all if we join with the prince," the sergeant retorted. Dossarch's jaw clenched at the statement.

He well remembered the desperate fighting on the Pelennor Fields. He remembered the ax that pierced his shield and his left hand, and the pain as he fought despite his wound. He remembered the fever and infection that had set in the next day, although he didn't recall the days of delirium that followed. He only remembered recovering his wits, weak as a kitten, to discover that King Elessar's host had already set forth for the Towers of the Teeth. He remembered he strength slowly returning, rejoicing at the news of victory and the fall of Sauron and the days of preparation for the king's return. He then remembered those who had been at the Black Gate being hailed as heroes while he, of no less valor than they, was not.

"We did not accept our tasks to remain safe," he snapped at the sergeant. "We accepted our tasks to defend Gondor. A foe has dared raid our folk, it is our duty to chastise him."

"Most of our lads haven't had the time to harden," the sergeant protested. Dossarch's jaw clenched anew.

He had to admit that the man was right. Of the two hundred who marched behind him, perhaps ninety had lifted a blade and braced a shield against a foe. This march was to toughen soft feet, harden backs and shoulders to bear harness and mail, teach the young soldiers the skills of patrolling, setting camp and operating in unsafe territory...while the threat was still small.

"But the foe is ahead and we're on his trail," Dossarch stated. "Our best trackers, two of great skill, deem the foe small, no more than one hundred. We have riders out to our flanks, front and rear. Our lads may be green, but they're braced with veterans and well trained. We will deal with these orcs, blood our lads and join a stronger host to the prince."

While the sergeant didn't seem completely convinced, he chose to not protest further. For three days, the column continued its march along the Ithilduin with no sign of the enemy other than the tracks and detritus that orcs were want to leave in their wake. For three days, the outriders reported no sign of the foe. Then the trail turned north.

The sergeant protested again, stating that the foe drew them further from their destination, but Dossarch would hear no complaint. "They seek to escape into the mountains," he told the man. "If such orcs can escape, they will tell their lot and the next raid will have ten times their number."

Again, Larsh bit his tongue, unable to argue the wisdom of the statement.

For two more days, the column marced north into rising land, where rushing streams cut deep ravines through the hills. On the morning of the third day, the lead outriders reported the orcs encamped less that a league ahead. Dossarch interrupted the morning meal, sent his riders to his flanks and rear and lashed his column into hasty movment. Less than an hour later, they burst into the abandoned camp to note the fires still smoldering. Almost scenting the foe, Dossarch ordered the march continued at double time.

Again, Larch protested, stating that the lads wouldn't be able to fight after such a march but Dossarch silenced him again. Minutes later, another outrider returned and reported the orcs fleeing in disarray only a quarter league ahead. Heartened by the news, the entire column surged forward. When the first arrows struck his lead rank, Dossarch knew that he had finally overtaken the enemy.

He looked forward to see a ragged band of the foul creatures, perhaps one hundred, with possibly two-score archers. Dossarch barked his orders and the column, green but well trained, complied. The first two ranks locked shields, braced spears and continued to advance. The four ranks behind kept their spears raised to the sky while the column's archers bent their bows towards the foe. Orcs dropped from well-aimed shafts while orc arrows bounced off of shield, helm and mail. Just before the spearmen could engage, the remaining orcs, down to fifty or so, broke and fled further up the ravine where they had made their stand. Ignoring Larsh's protest, Dossarch ordered pursuit.

Hours later, as the sun lowered in the sky, arrows and stones began to rain upon his comlumn from the high cliffs to either side, he realized that he may have been too rash.

Still, he commanded a strong force. Several men fell, but he got his men into a square formation, with the outside men holding shields aloft while on the inside, his archers drove the orcs from clifftops they had been using to rain shot and dart upon the men of Gondor. For a few minutes, Dossarch wondered why his outriders had not warned him of this ambush. Then, he realized that those riders must be dead. He would mourn later, now he had to extract his force from the ambush...by crushing the orcs. He had just ordered the continued advance when cold fear griped him.

Suddenly, his sword arm grew weak and the foe grew larger and more numerous in his mind. He forgot his deeds on the Pelennor fields, fighting despite his wounds. He knew that he was doomed to die in this nameless ravine. Shaking his head, he gained control of himself; he was still a strong man of the west. Unfortunately, not everyone mastered their fear.

Nearby, Larsh stood tall and ready, shouting at the men to remain in formation. Most of the veterans also shook their heads and stood firm; although their eyes were wide with fright. The new men, those who had not tasted battle before today, were unable to control their fear. More than one hundred men of Gondor fled down the ravine in disarray, screaming as they ran.

"Form up!" Larsh roared, rallying those who had stood firm. The ninety remaining men formed into a square as a rumble sounded from higher in the ravine. Then, a powerful host of orcs swarmed from the higher ground to surround the outnumbered veterans.

The men of the west died hard, extracting a price in lives and blood for every one who fell, yet it was still to cheap. Orcs leapt into the spears, dragging the weapons down with their own dying bodies as their fellows swarmed over the fallen. Blades from Gondor hacked down orcs by the dozen, but scores more used their dead and dying brethren to leap into the very heart of the battle square. Soon, the square was sundered.

The veterans still fought hard. Wherever they could, they banded together in bands of a score, a dozen or even a pair, standing back-to-back. Still the foe charged, headless of losses, willing to spend several to bring down each tall man. Dossarch saw Larsh fall, the sergeant's blade in an orc belly, his shield blocking an orc blade while an orc ax sundered his helm. The captain couldn't count the foes that had fallen beneath his own, notched blade when a jolt of pain in his back dropped him to his knees. Looking down, seeing a spear burst from his chest, his last thought was to wonder how men could stand before the fear that had sundered his column.

"You seem troubled, my king."

Eomer, King of Rohan, looked to his aide and friend.

"A man from Gondor rides with us, carrying the red arrow," he answered, nodding to their guest. The man in Gondorian livery rode somewhat away from the King, allowing him some privacy as he spoke with this councilor. "War is upon us. It is a troubling time."

"Yet we have ridden to war before," Hammarn pointed out. "Last summer, we rode far to the south and faced the Haradrim. You were not so troubled at that time."

"Last summer we went to war," Eomer reminded the man. "Yet this time, war has come to us."

"Perhaps if you shared this burden, it would ride more light upon you. My duty is to assist you; why don't you allow me to perform it? Why did you meet with the arrow-bearer in private and not speak of the danger?"

"I will share the burden, yet today," the King informed his companion. "And this is why we ride to Helm's Deep. King Aragorn summons not only the aid of Rohan, but the dwarves of the Glittering Halls, as well."

"They are few in number!" Hammarn protested. "Although a doughty folk, why does the King of the West call for them in addition to the spears of Rohan?"

"We may find ourselves in the Mountains of Shadow, above the lands of Ithilien," Eomer replied. "I had hoped to speak of this matter to my house and to Gimli at the same time, but you are correct that I should share the burden; you may have council that I have not considered. The King of the west believes that we may face battle in mountains and caves. In such a conflict, the dwarves can provide strength beyond their numbers."

"Ithilien! Does war threaten your sister and her husband?"

"As well as my sister-son," Eomer told his friend, his face grim. "While the darkness has not yet threatened Emyn Arnen, it is growing. While Aragorn prepares to march to Faramir's aid, he judged that I would wish to rally to the aid of my sister. He judged correctly."

"Has the shadow returned to Mordor?" Hammarn asked. "What shadow remains in Middle Earth that could challenge Prince Faramir? He is a capable leader of men."

"I know not the name or shape of the shadow. The bearer did not know and from his words, I believe that even Faramir and Aragorn do not know it. Aragorn calls upon me to muster the forces of Rohan to march to Emyn Arnen. Gimli, I and those I see fit to accompany me will ride to Minas Tirith, there to take council with Aragorn himself before traveling to Ithilien and the grim tasks that await us there."

"And did the High King direct the King of Rohan to fetch this dwarf?" Hammarn asked his King. "Does Aragorn, Lord of the West that he is, direct the King of Rohan, and his friend, to deliver messages?"

"Stay your outrage, good Hammarn," Eomer lifted one hand to halt further words, but smiled as he spoke. "Aragorn directed me to pass the summons on to Gimli and his folk. I took it upon myself to travel with the herald and his words. My household can see to the muster of the Eastfold, I go personally to warn the Westfold and to speak to Gimli. The dwarves are both guests and allies, not subjects, so I seek to show them proper courtesy."

"Could certain items at court be wearying your ears?" Hammarn's voice was sly, and his smile was one more appropriate for a man chastising a friend than a councilor speaking to a King.

"Aye, that subject has become most tiresome," the King admitted, with a sigh.

"But it is your duty," Hammarn reminded him. "You ride into danger, yet again. Should I send word to Dol Amroth that you may be in Minas Tirith soon?"

"You overstep yourself, Hammarn!"

"I think not, my liege," Hammarn's voice conveyed the image of a brave, albeit overmatched guard standing his ground against an assailant. "Had you wanted advisers who only spoke what you wished to hear, you never would have appointed those of us who now help you order your realm. No, my liege, your duty to continue your line is more vital to your realm than defeating any shadow at the borders."

"It is a private matter," Eomer protested, although weakly.

"A King's matters are never private," Hammarn countered. "The Lady Lothiriel seems more than willing. You seem just as willing. Why don't you wed and see to your realm's rulership?"

"Do all men face such harassment?" Eomer demanded. "Do all men have a household full of advisers who constantly demand that he wed and beget?"

"Nay, my liege. Most men have a mother to constantly remind him that he has not yet begat her grandchildren. Since I first answered the King's summons, my dam has taken every opportunity to remind me that I have no wife and no children."

"Shall I make a pact with you, good Hammarn? If you speak to fair Ethlyn, and she should accept, I shall speak to the Lady Lothiriel the next time either our paths, or the paths of her father and I, should pass."

"I shall accept this pact, should you promise me that this is an honest offer and not one intended to silence irritating tongues."

"It is in good faith," the King replied. "As you said, and as much as I desire to be wed, I have put off this duty."

"Of course, I sometimes wonder if Rohan needs her king. Look around, Hammarn! Far to the south, see the lad watching the cattle? He and his sire need no king to tell them how to tend their herd. Should wolf, orc or brigand threaten their kine, they will simply deal with the matter. They need no king to order them."

"The lad and his sire can deal with such small threats," Hammarn agreed. "Should a band of brigands, orcs or wolves threaten, they will gain the aid of their neighbors and deal the the issue. But can they deal with a horde? Can they call forth and order the action of a thousand spears? Can they call upon all of the Westfold to tithe a share of their cattle and goods, and use the wealth to construct a place of refuge? Nay, Eomer; Rohan needs her King."

"Even in these times of peace? The Dark Lord fell four years ago!"

"The Dark Lord fell, but there are other evils to threaten folk who would live in peace. Why else would a man of Gondor ride with us, clutching the red arrow?"

"Your words are true," Eomer admitted, after a few moments of thought. "I confess that I made such complaints as much for the excuse to speak, as for truly doubting the need for a king. However, it is still my belief that the folk of Rohan could carry on without, if need be."

"If need be," Hammarn nodded. "But will you put your folk to that need? We look to the House of Eorl for our ruler."

"And the house of Eorl has already produced the next generation," Eomer pointed out. "Eowyn has already given birth to Elboron. Should I fall without an heir, he shall be King."

"And your sister-son is already the heir to the Prince of Ithilien and the Steward of Gondor," Hammarn's eyes showed a touch of humor. Should Aragorn King pass away without an heir, the lad will be forced to take up the stewardship of Gondor, and the rule of Ithilien. Don't burden him with the ordering of Rohan, as well!"

Eomer smiled and nodded his agreement and the two rode among the King's Guard for a long time, reveling in the open spaces of the Westfold and the White Mountains to the south. Finally, Hammarn spoke again.

"There is another reason to establish your house," he told his King...and his friend. "While Prince Faramir is a fine man, he is not of the House of Eorl. I remember my sire and grand sire speaking of the time when your mother-brother took up his Kingship. There were many who thought it not a good thing that a man born in Gondor should sit on the throne. He also decreed that the tongue of Gondor be spoken in his hall, which many did not favor. Although Theoden proved a wise, just and mighty King, it took him many years to gain the trust of his folk."

"My folk would doubt that a child of Eowyn is a true Eorling?" Eomer's face showed a touch of anger at the implication. "I speak not of doubt for myself, but any son raised by both Eowyn and Faramir would make a fine King!"

"But yet another King born outside of Rohan," Hammarn pointed out. "Another King raised speaking the language of Gondor! I doubt not the skill and wisdom of either your sister or her husband, but your folk demand, and have the right, to a king raised among them."

"You speak the truth," Eomer admitted. "And I give you my pledge; as soon as you and Ethlyn are plighted, I will speak to both the Prince of Dol Amroth and his daughter as soon as I see them again."

"That is all I can ask, my King."

Even though the doubt of war followed the band of men, it was a distant shadow and the men were young and hale. They sky was clear and the light breeze warm, so they spoke and sang as they rode. Even the grim herald from Gondor joined in the tales and what songs he knew; although he never let the red arrow leave his hand. As the sun sunk into the west, the walls of Helm's Deep came into view.

"And there are those who questioned my wisdom in allowing Gimli and his folk to settle here," Eomer stated, as the walls of the fortress came into view.

Six years earlier, the fire of Orthanc had torn a gap through the Deeping Wall. Now, no sign of the rent remained. In gratitude for allowing them to dwell in the Deep, the dwarven colony had repaired and improved the wall. Now, it took a sharp eye from no more than an arms' distance away to note where new stone had replaced that which had been broken. While the men of Rohan had seen the dwarves place the stone blocks, it was beyond the skill of such men to note the boundary between the blocks.

"Four short years, and the deep is stronger than it has ever been," the young King concluded.

"The dwarves serve themselves, as well as the realm," Hammarn pointed out. Hammarn was one of the Rohirrim who did not approve of the dwarves living in the deep.

"Are they truly such evil tenants?" Eomer asked. The King had learned, long ago, to not argue with his councilor about such items, but to engage him in conversation.

"I trust not their loyalty," the slightly younger man admitted...as he had many times before. "They have taken no oath of service."

"I have not asked this of them," Eomer reminded his friend. "When I granted them leave to live in the deep, I bade them repair and maintain the keep, to deal fairly with my folk and to stand with us in times of war or other need. How have they failed to do so?"

"But they have taken no oaths of loyalty to the House of Eorl," Hammarn countered. "They do not owe you service, as do the men living in the Mark."

"As you said, they serve themselves as well as us," Eomer replied. "They live a life unlike ours; they do not love horses and open grasslands as do we. They love the mountains and the glooms beneath them. I do not ask for an oath of loyalty since I do not know the best way of ordering them, should they take such an oath. Instead of a tithe, I tax them on their productivity. So far, all parties seem to benefit."

Hammarn remained silent, clearly still not convinced. Before the two could speak more on the matter, hails sounded from the Hornburg, informing the band that they had been spotted. Short minutes later, several riders, one who bore Earkenbrand's banner, rode from the gates.

"Hail, Eomer!" the Marshall of the Westfold called to his king. "Welcome to the Westfold and the Hornburg. May I be so bold as to ask what brings the King of the Mark so far from his hearth and..."

Earkenbrand, a brave man, grew pale when he saw the Gondorian with the red arrow.

"Has war come again?" He mused aloud, then shook his head. "Of course it has! Why else such a token. Forgive me, my king, my wits were slow and dull."

"There is no need for apology," Eomer told him. "Only for secrecy at this time. I would have all here vow to remain silent on this matter. Earkenbrand, I shall meet with you and such of your folk that will prepare the Westfold for war as soon as you can I shall also speak to Gimli."

"He will be awaiting you," the Marshal of the Westfold noted, falling in beside his king as they continued up to the deep. "He saw no reason to sit a horse and come out to see you, when you were coming to the Hornburg anyway."

Eomer merely smiled as the fortress drew closer. He sent his folk to the great hall and turned the reigns of his horse over to one of the lads who came from the stables to see to the mounts.

"Eomer King, I would welcome you to the fortress, but it seems odd to welcome you into your own refuge," the voice, from nearby and rather lower than would be normal brought another smile to the king. "Have you come to assure yourself that we have kept faith, or perhaps to again see the Glittering Caves? You'll not be disappointed with either."

"Hail Gimli," Eomer declared, and grasped wrists with the dwarf he considered a friend. "I have no need to assure myself you are keeping faith, as my folk report as much. I would visit the caves if I could, but time presses too close for a proper visit. It is you I come for, as well as the folk of the Westfold. Grim tidings are upon us and I would have your council in my ears, and your ax at my side."

"You shall have both," the dwarf assured him, then stepped into place beside him as they made their way into the Hornburg.

It was not long before Earkenbrand, Eomer and their most trusted advisers were assembled in the great hall, along with Gimli. A guard stood outside the door, to discourage unwelcome ears.

"I am here to announce grim tidings," Eomer declared. "Gondor sends the Red Arrow and Rohan shall answer. I call upon the Westfold to muster one spear of every twenty available, to assemble and meet the valor of the Eastfold at Edoras, some ten days from now." He paused to look at the dwarf. "Aragorn King also calls for the dwarves of the Glittering Halls to answer this call."

"And we shall," Gimli answered him. "Five hundred dwarves labor and live in the deep. As the men of Rohan answered, so shall we. Twenty five of my folk will put up their hammers and picks and take up mail, mattock and ax and follow me to answer the call."

"They will go with the men of the Westfold," Eomer told him. "First to Edoras and then on to Osgiliath. We travel to Minas Tirith, good Gimli, Aragorn wishes to share words with us before we set forth to face the shadow."

"For a shadow has appeared in Ithilien," Eomer announced to all those present. "It threatens Eowyn, my sister and her husband, their son and the folk that dwell in that fair land. It threatens Legolas and the elves that have set themselves the task of healing the land. If unchecked, it could threaten all of Gondor."

"Could you describe this shadow?" Earkenbrand asked. "Faramir is a valiant man, why do we muster only one spear in twenty to face a threat that he cannot overcome?"

"Numbers alone will not be enough," Eomer told him. "I call for the arrow-bearer to tell his tale, so that I do not speak false."

"These are the words that Prince Faramir has sent from his troubled realm," the Gondorian stated, taking his feet. "Orcs have increased in the Mountains of Shadow, near the pass of Cirith Ungol. A great fear has long dwelt there and Faramir deems that this fear has called the orcs to it."

"At first, this was of little concern," the herald continued. "For the pass lies high in the mountains, far from where man dwells or elf wanders. Yet, this shadow, this fear, has moved lower and now man and elf fear the upper forests and hills. The orcs have followed this fear and now raid and ravage the upper hills. When Faramir rallies his folk, they flee to the shelter this nameless fear affords. It is Faramir's concern that this fear will continue its journey into the settled regions of this fair land, driving the free folk away again."

"I will ride to face any foe," Earkenbrand declared. "But what good will it do if a fear throws me back? This reeks of sorcery and dark powers! Can a man face such?"

"All feel the fear," the herald answered. "But those who have been tempered by great hardships, long journeys and harsh battle seem to be able to master themselves. As with Rohan, most men of Gondor life lives of peace, only rising to battle when called upon to do so. Such men cannot abide the terror that now threatens Faramir's realm. This is the problem that faces the prince; when he musters his folk to march against his foe, only the hardiest can accompany him. They are too few to face the orcs that find shelter behind the shield that the terror affords them. It is King Paragon's hope that enough hardy men of Rohan and Gondor can be mustered to match those orcs that hide behind whatever rallies them."

"Remember this when you muster your strength," Eomer instructed his Marshall. "We will need valiant men; those who have faced war, beast and hard life. Such men may be able to face fear better than others."

"Other than that, there is little warning to give," the herald told them. "The Rohirrim are well versed in slaying orcs; King Elessar bids you to prepare to fight them again."

"I shall heed this advice, as well," Gimli stated. "I will select those of my folk who have seen long journeys, hardship and battle."

"Very well," Eomer stated. "Beyond that, we must look to the provisioning of this force. Earkenbrand, prepare your riders to spread the word while we attend to such details needed to put man, dwarf and horse on the field of battle, prepared and equipped to fight."

For hours, the discussion and calculation devoted itself to food, blades, fodder and wagons to carry them. By the time night fell, man and dwarf had decided what effort would be needed to deliver three thousand spears of Rohan and twenty five dwarven axes to the field in Ithilien. The next day, Eomer, with Gimli at his side, set out on the road to Minas Tirith.

Gondor was still at peace, so the three had no fear of harm. The journey did not tax man, dwarf or beast overmuch. Upon arrival at the fortress city, the three called upon their king and friend. Aragorn greeted them warmly, invited them to dine with him and his wife. During this time, he declined to discuss the crises, stating that such council would take place in the morning. With the hour growing late, stewards from the tower showed his guests to their rooms. With the next morning, Gimli and Eomer were shown to a council chamber, where Aragorn awaited them.

"The time has come to discuss what we face in Ithilien," he stated. "As the herald told you, a fear has come to the upper hills and forests; a fear that few can withstand. I wish the two of you to attend to me as I speak of what I have learned. I am but a man and can err, so I call upon the two of you to judge what I have learned."

"I am more interested in deeds and horses than old lore," Eomer told him. "But I shall aid as I can."

"And I am more interested in stone and iron," Gimli added. "But I will also aid, as I am able."

"Very well," Aragorn nodded. "There has been a terror living beneath the tower of Cirith Ungol for long ages, even before Gondor built the tower. Few who saw the cause of this terror survived to speak the tale."

"Frodo and Samwise did," Gimli recalled. "Sam mentioned a great spider."

"Not a spider," Aragorn corrected the dwarf. "A beast in spider form. Sam even noted that a terror seemed to surround the beast."

"This is not surprising," Eomer shrugged. "If I were to see a spider the size he reported, I would feel a certain fear."

"But Sam and Frodo felt the fear before seeing Shelob," Aragorn pointed out. "Aye, I shall use her name, as Sam reported the orcs using. There is more to this beast than simply a large spider. The orcs would never suffer such a thing to live close to them. With blade, stone and flame they would have killed her or driven her away long ago. No, there is something more."

"At first, I feared that she may be a creature of Sauron's," Aragorn reported. "Like the Nazgul. Or perhaps she is a creature from beyond this world, like the Balrog of Moria. Wondering which, I wrote to the only one left in Middle Earth who has faced Balrog, Nazgul and Shelob."

"Sam?" Gimli demanded. "Aragorn, you go too far! Sam has played his part, leave him in peace!"

"You forget yourself," Aragorn drew himself to his full height. A terrible majesty played about his features. "I am the High King and duty compels me to defend my folk by whatever means is necessary. Should that mean calling upon Samwise of the Shire, I shall do so!"

"But I forget myself, as well," now Aragorn returned to his seat. "You are correct. Samwise, the heir to Frodo, the heir to Bilbo, who helped restore the Kingdom Under the Mountain, has played is part in Middle Earth. His only duty now is to order and cherish his fair realm in the north; and that duty is also his reward. Even if Minas Tirith itself were threatened, I would leave the stout hobbit in peace."

"So you asked for his lore?" Gimli asked.

"Aye," Aragorn nodded. "I had to be firm with him in my letter, insisting that he remain in the Shire. Yet the wisdom he shared was telling. He stated that the 'flavor' of fear he felt with both the Balrog and with Shelob was earthy, similar to the fear he felt when his father was going to take a switch to him for some mischief he had performed."

"Of course, he stated that the terror he felt from the Balrog was greater than the terror he felt from Shelob; and that Shelob's terror was far greater than the switch. However, he said that the terror was the same; the terror of harm, pain and death."

"He claims that the terror he felt from the Nazgul was of a different 'flavor', the terror a child feels with a strange sound echoes from the dark, or when a shadow moves at the edge of your vision. It is the fear of the unknown, of a fate you cannot fathom but also cannot avoid."

"So what did this tell you?" Eomer asked.

"That Shelob is in some way akin to the Balrog," Aragorn told him. "While the Balrog was a fallen Maiar, Shelob is descended from a fallen Maiar."

"Can such a being be slain?" Gimli asked. "All the valor of Kazad-Dum couldn't defeat Durin's Bane, and Galdalf himself fell when he bested it. Is there any left in Middle Earth than can contend with such a foe?"

"Durin's Bane was a fallen Maiar," Aragorn reminded him. "While I suspect that Shelob is descended from such. According to Sam, he used Sting to both stab one of her eyes and inflict a deep stab in her belly. His barrow blade sheared off a claw. I believe that the beast can be slain by steel, given that it is wielded with strength, skill and courage."

"So the issue we face is to find enough men with stout enough hearts to brave the terror that surrounds the beast," Eomer stated. "These men must be able to overcome the orcs that surround Shelob, allowing at least some to face the fiend that has haunted the pass for ages. A daunting task."

"But one that must be done," Aragorn told him. "Else she may look even further afield for her prey."

"You say she's come forth from her tunnels in search of prey?" Gimli asked. "Why do you deem this is her reason?"

"I found one who knew her," Aragorn told him, his face grim. "One who had lived close to her, knew her habits as well as any living being."

"I thought that naught but orcs lived in the Tower of Cirith Ungol," Gimli protested. "And all of those were slain."

"One survived," Aragorn told him. "Wounded, he made his way to the Tower of Barad-dur. It is he who gave the Dark Lord Frodo's mithril shirt and the barrow blade."

"And he survived?" Eomer asked. "The Dark Lord was not merciful, or so I was led to believe."

"Sauron was no fool," Aragorn answered. "While he wasn't merciful, he was wise in the way of command. He knew that his servants needed rewards for loyalty as well as punishment for failure. Those who served him well received such rewards as he could provide. Those who were wounded in his service received such healing as his servants could offer. When I led brave men to rescue his prisoners from the wreckage of his tower, we found this servant, recovering from his wounds."

With that, Aragorn directed a guard to fetch the prisoner. He refused to speak more on the matter, waiting for his servant to complete his errand. Before long, two more guards arrived, with an fettered orc between them.

Eomer and Gimli studied the prisoner. He was no taller than a typical orc, but he was broad and heavily muscled. His long arms hung below his knees and promised to hold frightening strength. When the guards halted, he looked first at the Eorling and the dwarf, then looked to Aragorn.

"So my captor wants to show off his caged bird to his guests," the orc sneered at the king. "Tell me, master, what song do you want this bird to sing?"

"The song of your name and your duties under your old master," Aragorn commanded.

"Very well," the orc replied, then looked towards the other two. "My name is Shagrat," he declared. "And when Sauron held sway over Mordor, I was captain of the tower of Cirith Ungol."


	2. March to Terror

While Aragorn remained calm, Gimli and Eomer glared at the prisoner.

"I am not versed in the lore and traditions of Gondor," Eomer finally stated. "But I did not believe that any king would bring such as this into the very heart of the citadel."

"Stay your wrath and questions," Aragorn told his friend. "He was helpless when I found him. I will not stoop to slay such as he and I would not let him go. He is a clever being, and I have learned much of him."

"So what song will your captive bird sing now?" Shagrat asked his captor.

"The song that tells your lore of Shelob," Aragorn told him. "Sing well, and your supper will be better tonight."

"Ah, the kindly master," Shagrat sneered. "Of course, when the bird doesn't get fed unless he sings, sing he will. Shelob was there before the tower, if the tales speak true. She was there before the great eye made Mordor his own. None know when she took up housekeeping in the pass. If the eye knew when that day was, he never spoke to any that spoke it to another. When the eye took up housekeeping in the dry land, he left her where she was. Rumor said that he fancied her as a pet; who knows the mind behind the eye? All I know is that every so often some prisoner would get brought up from Lugburz, along with orders to let 'em free in her tunnels. Maybe Sauron was feeding his pet, maybe he was paying his guard, who knows?"

"What manner of beast is she?" Eomer asked. "Is she more than a giant spider?"

"Whatever she is, it ain't no beast," Shagrat sneered at the blonde. "She thinks, in her own way. She's always digging new tunnels, closing off other ones and spinning her webs. Anything she catches is her meat. We found the bones of man and elf, dwarf and orc, bird and beast in those tunnels." The orc shuddered. "That was the hardest duty, when we were mustered out to patrol her caves. You always kept together; she didn't much care for large bands but if one or two got separated? Well, she was always just out of sight, always waiting for her next meal."

"Why didn't you just drive her away or kill her?" Gimli asked.

"Weren't you listening? The eye wanted her alive and it was more than my skin was worth to argue with him. Every so often she'd get a little too close, and we'd have to go out and block up some of her tunnels. That was as much as we'd ever do. The eye didn't want her disturbed so bad she'd actually leave, even if she took one o' us every so often."

"Didn't you rescue your fellows?" Eomer looked shocked.

"And face her ladyship? Are you daft?" Shagrat's sneer was back in place. "Once she got a body, he was her plaything, her meal, her treasure. Sometimes, we'd find some bloke, one o' ours or a treat the eye had sent, wrapped up in some corner. I never knew if she'd forgot about him or just didn't care any more. Maybe she didn't like the taste, who knows? It didn't pay to be too curious in the tunnels."

"Let's get more to the point," Aragorn told his captive. "Tell them why you think she's left her tunnels."

"What meat would be there for her anymore?" Shagrat shrugged. "When's the last time an elf walked that pass, or a dwarf or a man? The orcs only walked the pass 'cause of orders. Mayhap a bird or little beast might be foolish enough to pass into the tunnels, but enough to keep her fed? No, the world's moved on, there's no longer a garrison in the tower, so there's not enough for her to eat. If your lot's afraid of shadows below the pass, it's Shelob, mark my word."

"So you felt the fear she creates?" Eomer asked him.

"The fear, of course I felt fear. Every day was fear. The silent watchers, the nazgul, Shelob, and the blokes the eye sent to keep us in line, every last one of 'em scared me. You got used to Shelob after a bit. That was one of the fun times we had, takin' the new meat out on patrol. When she'd get to watching us, their eyes would get as big as shields. Every so often, one of the lads would freeze up and wouldn't be able to move. Shelob's tribute, we called 'em. We just kept going and left that sort behind."

"But you learned to endure it, with time passing?" Eomer pressed.

"Oh, aye," Shagrat offered him a grin with teeth in it. "Did you wet yourself the first time someone actually took a blade to you? It's like that, the first time you feel it, you go all cold inside and just want to crawl away and hide. After a couple of weeks, you'd rather not be there. After a couple of months, you just got annoyed by it."

The two men and Gimli shared a look, then Aragorn addressed his captive.

"Can she be killed?"

"Yer askin' the wrong bloke," Shagrat scowled. "Like I told you before, it was more than my hide was worth to harm her ladyship. If any orc ever tried to harm her, I never heard about it. I didn't think she could be hurt until your hero stuck a pin in her."

The orc smiled, a frightening sight. "Your guards at night gossip just as bad as my lads did," he chuckled. "They tell me that this hero was just a wee sort...a halfling they say. When we picked up that little fellow...well, I had my orders that he wasn't to be harmed, but I planned on asking him what sort of man or elf could have hurt her ladyship the she'd been hurt. It wasn't until your guards started sharing stories that I found out that the great warrior wasn't any bigger that the wee bloke I had at the top of the tower. If that wee bloke who stuck the pin in her is still around, I'd just call for him, if I were you."

"Oh, but you can't, can you?" Now, the orc's voice was mocking. "He's a precious halfling. Can't hurt that lot, can you? They belong in their peaceful little land, somewhere to the north and west. Why, the mighty king has even forbidden men from walking in that land. We can't harm the wee, precious things, can we?"

"What are you getting at, orc," Gimli snarled.

"Why, just wondering at all this mercy and charity for the runts," Shagrat snarled right back. "Here, you're all being so careful to not hurt the little flowers, but what about my folk? You hear the orcs are in the forests below the pass, where nobody goes anyway, and you're ready to face Shelob herself to get rid of us. Isn't the war over?"

"Your folk raided a village several weeks ago," Aragorn glowered at him. "Of course we are going to respond."

"And men have never had a quarrel with other men," Shagrat rolled his eyes. "I heard about you, mighty king. You traveled to the south of Mordor, to the sea and fields, and gave those fields to the slaves you found there. What about my folk? Did you think to give us the mines and tunnels around the black gate? Weren't the orcs just as much slaves to the eye as the fellows tending the fields to the south?"

"Enough!" Aragorn declared. "If you have nothing more to sing about Shelob, I'll return you to your cage."

"A hundred tales, a thousand stories," Shagrat told him. "But none of interest to a man seeking a way to kill her."

Aragorn waved for the guards to remove the orc. The three companions remained silent until he was gone.

"A clever one, that," Eomer commented. "He learned from us while we were learning from him. He now knows that we seek to slay the beast."

"And what good will that do him?" Gimli asked. "Unless there are those in the city who will shuttle messages from the prison to our enemy."

"I doubt any would do so for the orc," Aragorn said. "But he let something pass his lips, as well. He admitted that my guards gossip in the night. He has learned of my granting the Shire to the hobbits, as well as my giving the fields around the Sea of Nurnen to Sauron's slaves."

"Again, my wits must be dulled," Gimli told his companions. "I cannot see how this is of use to him."

"At the moment, no use," Aragorn noted. "But that one plans for the future. He has been my prisoner for long years. He wishes to be freed so that he can rejoin his folk. He claims that he wishes to move the orcs far from the realms of man, where they can live life free of us. I trust him not, he always plans, always whispers just a bit to the guards, setting one against another. He may try the same with us. While I covet his knowledge of Mordor and Sauron, I tremble at his ambition."

"Coveting and trembling are not our concerns," Gimli pointed out. "This creature, Shelob, is our problem. If I remember Sam's tale correctly, Sting seemed to have power over both her webs and her body. While I agree that Sam should remain safe in the Shire, could we send for the blade?"

He paused a moment. "Two more blades were found in the troll-horde from which Bilbo and Thorin unearthed Sting; Orcrist and Glamdring. Gandalf left Glamdring behind when he passed to the west, is it time to bring this treasure out to be used? Is our need dire enough to take the other from Thorin's tomb in the Lonely Mountain? I can send word to my folk, if this is needed."

"Let Orcrist lie on Thorin's tomb," Aragorn answered. "Let Sting reside in the Shire. Should we send for the blade, the hobbit will accompany it. If Eomer desires it, he shall bear the Foe-Hammer. I shall wield Narsil. These are weapons made with the same skill that forged Sting. Mayhap they will rend Shelob's flesh as well as the small blade in determined hands."

"What else can be brought to bear against this foe? " Eomer asked. "If I remember the hobbit's tale correctly, he bore an elven light that drove it back."

"Frodo carried the light with him to the undying lands," Aragorn stated.

"But perhaps fire would do," Gimli suggested. "A shovel full of burning coal might be more harmful than a well-swung ax."

"Pikes," Eomer added. "Sharp points to keep the foe at bay."

"This is why I called both of you," Aragorn told them. "We must plan and plot while others gather our forces."

* * *

For the next several days, the three had long discussions. At times, Aragorn called upon rangers familiar with Ithilien to speak with them. On occasion, they spoke with survivors from the debacle north of the Ithilduin; at other times, skilled smiths or hard-bitten sergeants. At yet other times, he called upon loremasters to recount tales surrounding the death of balrogs and the great wolf, Carcharoth. He called upon the great houses of Gondor to provide ancient weapons and other tokens of power. They studied maps, tested weapons and debated strategies. By the time the forces of Rohan arrived, man and dwarf were content that they had come up with the best plans they could devise, given the lore available to them.

Also, Eomer kept his word to his counselor. While awaiting his host, he rode swift horses to Dol Amroth and had words with the prince. Shortly before the Rohirrim arrived at Osgiliath, the Lady Lothiriel, accompanied by her father, arrived at Minas Tirith and the two were wed. Aragorn called for an additional counselor from Rohan, as Eomer was very distracted after the wedding.

All too soon for Eomer, the host arrived at Osgiliath and it was time for the leaders to join them. He said farewell to his new bride and rode with Aragorn and Gimli to the assembled host. Along with his guards, Aragorn brought Shagrat with him; something that had both Eorling and dwarf nervous.

"Questions may arise once we take the field," he explained. "I would have my captive prepared to answer."

* * *

It was a cautious march from Osgiliath: Aragorn sent strong, mounted parties to all sides, the front and the rear. Every night they established a fortified camp and set both sentries and hidden observers. They marched more slowly than Captain Dossarch's ill-fated band had, being more cautious, more ready for conflict. Three days into the march, they were joined by Prince Faramir, Legolas and a small band of rangers. Despite the grim task, the meeting was joyous. Eomer happily greeted his brother in law, and Legolas was eager to speak to his old companions from the fellowship.

The captains' meeting that night was not so joyous. Faramir reported that few folk had yet moved into the land north of the Ithilduin, and those few were now fleeing. Orcs were getting bolder, driving the free folk away. He did not need to continue his report, Aragorn knew well that more orcs would flock to join a leader, or power, strong enough to drive man and elf from a fair land. This incursion, and the power behind it, had to be quickly eliminated.

On the fourth night, they made camp at the point where Captain Dossarch's column had turned north, following the trail away from the river the next morning. Aragorn sent swift riders ahead, who reported, with ashen faces, that the battleground appeared deserted. Aragorn set a cautious pace, one that allowed the men to maintain their strength. It took five days of marching to reach the place where Captain Dossarch's veteran's had made their last stand. The king's face darkened when he saw it.

There were no weapons or mail to be found; Aragorn hadn't expected any. The orcs were sure to have looted blade and shield, spear and mail. Other gear, tools and kit, was certainly now serving the foul folk, so such was not to be found on the battlefield. The bones, however, had been put to a different use. The orcs had chopped the heads from the men of Gondor, making a great pyramid in the center of a clearing and piling bodies around it. Aragorn set scouts and pickets around the grim clearing and set most of his men to constructing a fortified camp. He then ordered men to dig great cairns. By the time night had fallen, the men who had died here had been laid to rest with their comrades and the king himself said words over their grave. With the grim task of caring for the fallen finished, they turned to the grimmer task of taking revenge.

The next day, the king set his searchers and trackers out to find the foe, while the majority of the soldiers either patrolled the surrounding land or continued to fortify the camp. While Legolas went with the searchers, Gimli remained in the camp, directing the labors as only a skilled dwarf can. It was while he was stalking the camp, pacing the distances and planning further entrenchments that he encountered Shagrat again.

"So the bold men leave the dwarfs to the work," the orc grumbled, standing fettered between two guards. "While the orc prisoner is left twiddlen' his thumbs. You're lucky dwarf, they don't trust me with a hammer or a shovel."

"You're a prisoner," Gimli grumbled at the former Captain of Mordor. "Prisoners would be better served not angering their captors."

"I anger you just by speaking," Shagrat smirked. "I anger you just for breathing! Tell me, what good does it do 'aving me just sitting 'round here eatin' the food. I can move dirt as good as any man or dwarf. Unless big bold men with spears and pikes fear a single orc with a shovel, why don't you put me to work?"

Gimli looked long and hard at his antagonist; feeling that the orc was playing him for a fool somehow, but not being sure exactly how. If he put the orc to work, he was sure he would regret it but if he turned and left, he was sure the crafty prisoner would find some way of branding him a coward. Finally, the dwarf motioned for the guards to give Shagrat a shovel and put him to work on the breastworks.

It was a tense day, as the forces of Gondor knew that they were in territory where orcs were active. The prisoner was watched closely; and not just by those who were charged to do so. The men included many seasoned veterans among them, so work continued rapidly. A ditch, backed by a hasty stockade began to take shape. Other men drilled at arms while still more practiced archery. None knew how long they would remain.

For three days, the men of the west remained in camp, waiting for the scouts to find the foe. For three days, the camp grew stronger with the continued labors and for three days, Shagrat dug at the ditch surrounding the camp. He spoke to Gimli again on the third day.

"Strange, isn't it," he spoke to the dwarf, pausing to lean against his shovel. "The guards 'ave been talkin' again. They say that you're from the house of Durin. Wasn't that long back you had a bit of a rough time, didn't you? They say your folk wound up mining coal for their bread."

Gimli glared at the orc but chose not to speak.

"Right then," Shagrat continued. "There's your folk, skilled miners and craftsmen, digging coal for men. And here I am, I'd give about anything to be able to earn some coin digging for coal."

Again, the dwarf answered with silence.

"Let's have it out of you!" The orc demanded. "What did I do that was so much worse than what the men you fought at the Black Gate did? I had my orders, maintain the tower, patrol the tunnels and guard any prisoners. When we found your precious halfling, the ringbearer it turns out he was, what did I do to him? I had my lads cut him free of Shelob's webs and carry him back to the tower. I guarded him from all harm."

"One of your ilk whipped him," Gimli snarled.

"One of my lads whipped him while I was putting down a brawl over his pretty shirt," Shagrat countered. "If I hadn't been there, do you think that Gorbag would have been gentle? Gorbag wanted to strip his nails and skin off. I took on one of my own to protect the wee hobbit."

"Because of your orders," Gimli stated.

"Aye, I followed my orders," Shagrat told him. "How many of your folk could say that they would have done the same for one of mine? How many orc prisoners are safe when man, elf or dwarf catches them? I heard of a fight away to the west and north, a place called Isengard. Seems there were orcs and men there and some walking trees took the place down. The trees let the men go but killed the orcs. Same thing happened at a place called Helm's Deep, orcs and men attacked and lost. The men got sent back home but the orcs got killed. And here you're all uppity that a hobbit got whipped."

"Now the men have won," Shagrat continued. "Where's the place in the world for my folk? It's been years since the eye got closed but I'm still a prisoner. How many men are still prisoners? The merciful high king let 'em all go, didn't he? He gave the eye's slaves their freedom...except for the orcs. Why do you think my folk are fighting? What choice do they have?"

"If you think I'll believe that they'll just go away, you're a fool," Gimli told him.

"We'll never know, will we?" Shagrat chuckled. "You're right in that, the hate's too deep but what if they had an out? What if they knew that if they went far enough away, you wouldn't case 'em no more? Have you ever thought of that?"

"This is pointless talk!" Gimli snarled. "You wanted your shovel, go back to shoveling. I've better things to do that discuss politics with an orc!"

The dwarf spun on a heel and stalked away while the orc went back to digging, a smile on his face.

That evening, outriders came in, reporting that they had spotted a vast camp of orcs, seven leagues to the north.

"The scouts cannot fully guess their numbers," Aragorn told his chief advisers. "But they are close to our own numbers. There is worse news, while several riders spotted the camp, only one was brave enough to approach. He had to do so on foot, as his horse could not endure a terror that clung to the camp. He took a great risk, as if he were spotted, he would have been forced to flee afoot."

Here, the king glared at Faramir.

"Aragorn is not the only king angry with you," Eomer also gave his brother-in-law a hard look. "My sister has been happy since meeting you. I would not see her a grieving widow."

"Risks must be taken if we are to learn of the foe's camp," Faramir answered. "I remain a prince of Gondor. If any have the obligation and the right to take the risk, it is I." He took a deep breath. "Right or wrong, I went and I learned of the foe's camp. Will you now hear of what I saw?"

Aragorn nodded and Faramir described the number of foe and the layout of the camp. He said that it was back up against a cliff and that he had seen a crack in the earth, which orcs passed into and out. He also described the banners he had seen flying.

"Many of them show a spider," he reported.

"The eye is closed," Shagrat, who Aragorn had ordered brought to the meeting, told them. "But Shelob remains. She was there before Sauron, so it seems right that she lives after he's gone."

"How could any flock to her?" Faramir demanded. "The fear was almost enough to unman me."

"You get used to it in time," Shagrat told him. "And she keeps them safe. Most men won't dare attack into her fear. We don't have mighty kings and bold captains, we take what we can use."

"I did not see a great spider amongst the enemy," Faramir admitted.

"If there's caves, she'll be in them," Shagrat told him. "She doesn't care for light. Maybe she can come out at night, but she's not one for letting the sun strike her."

"But we have a problem," Faramir stated. "I don't know how many men can endure the terror of the camp. I doubt that enough can do so to face the orcs."

"We must defeat the orcs to reach the beast," Eomer mused. "Yet we cannot face the orcs until we've dealt with the beast."

"Cleverness and forethought will be needed." Aragorn told them. "Let us plot and plan! Guards, see that the prisoner is back in his tent. We need no unnecessary ears to hear out plans."

"We must find some way to make the orcs sortie against us," Faramir told his companions, once the orc was removed. "If we can get the orcs to attack, we can eliminate them and challenge the beast at a time of our choosing."

"But if the beast remains, the orcs will always be able to rally," Eomer countered. "If we can draw the orcs from the camp and eliminate the beast, we can crush the orcs when we so choose."

"Perhaps we can starve them out of the camp," Gimli suggested.

"I dislike the idea of a siege," Aragorn admitted. "Shelob could come at a section of the line at night and sow terror. We must eliminate her. On the morrow, I want each captain to find the boldest of his men. We shall approach this camp and find out how many of us can endure the terror."

"You sound like you have made up your mind," Faramir told his king.

"I have," Aragorn agreed. "Although many here may not find it to their liking."


	3. Hunt the Beast

The next morning, a screen of stealthy scouts left the king's camp. Behind them, several bands of men marched from the camp and followed separate routes to the orcs' encampment. They moved during the day, when the orcs would be less likely to be out and alert. As they approached the encampment, their captains watched them closely. As they got closer, men became nervous, then fearful, then panicked. The captains took careful note of who were the least affected by the terror in the enemy's camp.

The orcs were no fools, for even though they disliked the sun, they had scouts out, as well. There were many clashes between small bands of man and orc. As night closed in, the men retreated back to their camp, not wishing to fight their foe in the dark. Again, the captains met to discuss what they had learned.

"I do not know what causes a man to not be affected by the terror," Eomer declared. "Most of the Rohirrim were unable to endure the fear."

"Those of Gondor who had ancient blades, or talismans from the elder days seemed to tolerate the horror better than those without such trinkets," Faramir added. "Also, those who had spent more time on campaign were better able to withstand the fear."

"Half of the dwarves were able to face the fear," Gimli reported. "Of course, all of my folk are much older than men. All had fought in the Battle of Dale and have walked in many dark places under the earth."

"I cannot speak of elves, since I am the only one here," Legolas added. "While I felt the fear, I was able to master myself."

"We are learning something of the terror and how to endure it," Aragorn declared. "With the dawn, we shall..."

A horn sounded, interrupting the king.

"To your commands, all of you!" Aragorn ordered. "The enemy has come upon us!"

It was a dark night, with only a quarter moon, so the men of the west had difficulty seeing their foes. The archers couldn't see the enemy at a distance, so it was a battle of spear and sword, ax and mattock. All through the night, the men of the west expected crushing fear to suddenly descend upon them; but the only fear was the honest fear of battle and hurt, met in the obscuring dark. Shortly before dawn, the foe slipped away again, leaving a field covered in dead and wounded.

With the light of day, the focus shifted from the enemy to the wounded lying on the field. Fortunately, part of creating the camp had meant creating huts for the healers to work. The grim business continued, even as scouts trailed the orcs back to their own encampment. Before midday, Aragorn had the count of enemy dead as opposed to his own dead and wounded.

"It was a foolish move by them," he declared to the assembled captains. "They took much more hurt that we did! Why didn't they bring Shelob to route us, as they did before?"

"You don't _bring_ Shelob," Shagrat, from where he stood between two guards, answered. "Shelob goes where Shelob chooses to go. Maybe she wasn't hungry, maybe this many men has made her a bit jumpy, maybe she didn't want to come for some reason I'll never know."

Aragorn looked at him for a long time before motioning to his guards.

"Take him away and put him to work," he ordered. "But he is not to be harmed. Treat him as if he were a prisoner of the Easterlings."

"I believe he spoke truthfully," the king told his captains, once the prisoner was gone. "Now it us up to us to determine what to do next."

"Shelob is the problem," Gimli shrugged. "If we can slay her, the orcs will fall before us. As long as she remains, we must fear the orcs."

"Yet we must go through the orcs to face the beast," Faramir countered. "That has not changed."

"But if we can get the orcs to come to us, leaving the beast in her den?" Aragorn suggested. "Prepare to march! I want nine of ten riders ready to move within the hour! Assemble every man and dwarf who was able to face the fear. The rest must stay here to guard the camp and the wounded."

"My king?" Faramir asked.

"You, Gimli and Legolas will accompany me, with those who have proven capable of withstanding the beast's terror," Aragorn told him. "We shall march to the east, into the higher hills. We shall seek a way around our foes, so that we can reach the beast. We shall take our prisoner with us, as he knows more than any other about our quarry. Eomer, you will command the cavalry, you will ride within two hours, strike our foe and return here! You will bring the enemy here, so that those who accompany me may reach the beast."

"This is foolishness!" Faramir protested. "You are now the high king! If something should befall you..."

"Then my son shall be king," Aragorn snapped at the prince. "You forget yourself!"

"Nay," Faramir challenged his king. "I forgot myself when I watched my father, the ruling steward, slip into madness. I shall not stand idly and watch the king throw his life away!"

For a moment, it seemed that Aragorn would reply with harsh words, yet his face calmed somewhat.

"You speak well," he admitted. "Good men must not fear when they speak their counsel. Yet I shall lead this sortie. Courage is needed, and experience. King I may be, but my kingdom is in peril and I have walked more roads, and darker, than any man here. Let every captain know that I seek to draw the orcs from their camp to ours, to be crushed. If Shelob sorties from her hole, my band shall fall upon her. If she remains in her hole and the orcs at the camp remain too numerous, we will attack and retreat, again and again, until we have worn their numbers to something we can contend with."

"I would side with my brother-in-law," Eomer stated. "But I have no better plan. The sortie that seeks to slay the beast must contain stout men and be led by stouter. Yet I must question the wisdom of placing you and Faramir in the same sortie. If you fall into a trap, Gondor looses both her king and her greatest prince. Can we not arrange the force so the two of you do not face the same danger?"

"You also speak well," Aragorn nodded. "Faramir, take charge of the scouts that screen the camp. Should the foe sortie, take charge of the camp and defend it to the last."

The king paused.

"I know that it sounds like I am sending you to a place of safety, I am not." He said. "Let none here question the prince's valor. As Eomer King stated, it is to keep the two of us separated. Faramir, should I fall on the field, raise my son as one of your own."

"If I may make the same request of you, my king," the prince stated.

"You need not even ask," Aragorn nodded to him. "We must move now, may we all meet again here in a few days and speak of valor and victory."

With that, the captains scattered to their commands. Aragorn found a seasoned captain to command the camp until Faramir's return. Two hours after releasing the captains, the cavalry thundered to the north. Shortly after this, Aragorn led his band east, climbing quickly into the higher ground. Faramir lead a screen of clever scouts ahead of them, seeking to keep the orcs from discovering the band.

Once in the hills, Aragorn led his band north, keeping to the most dense cover he could find. Secrecy was more important than speed. All were tense as they stalked along narrow game trails, aware of the fact that they were a small party that the orc horde could overwhelm if they were discovered. As the sun lowered to the west, they heard the thunder of cavalry in the valley below them, traveling to the south. Aragorn wondered at the outcome of the fighting, but couldn't allow such worry to interfere with his mission. When night fell, he allowed a couple of hours of rest before continuing the march, even more slowly.

The men were exhausted by the time they found a deep ravine to establish a hasty camp. Aragorn himself marched to a ridge nearby, where the high king crawled through brush and bracken and found a point where he could observe the orcs' camp, almost a league away.

"I have not the eyes of man or elf," Gimli whispered to him. "What do you see?"

"The camp does not appear greatly changed," Aragorn answered, his voice quiet. "I cannot see if their numbers are greatly reduced."

"So Eomer probably did not engage yesterday," the dwarf mused. "It is of no benefit to guess what happened, but the mind wonders anyway."

"We can only hope that our friends are well," Aragorn agreed. "Mayhap, you would be better served resting. We must be prepared to move quickly when the enemy acts."

"As should you," the dwarf countered. "You have good men with sharp eyes with you. The lack of sleep slows the wits and we need yours. Let other men of Gondor watch the camp while you take your rest."

Aragorn was prepared to argue, but saw the wisdom in the dwarf's words. Two experienced rangers slithered into the thick cover while king and dwarf found their way back to the camp. Aragorn took some cold food before wrapping his cloak around him and settling in to rest. Shortly after noon, one of the watchers rushed back into camp.

"The Riders of Rohan approach the orcs' camp," he reported.

Aragorn was on his feet and rushing to the vantage point before the scout had completed his report. Moments later, he was at the vantage point he had located. Gimli was with him very shortly.

"The Rohirrim approach with caution," Aragorn reported. "They now form up, perhaps a league away from the camp."

"The Orcs do not appear to know they are close by in such numbers," Legolas reported. Both dwarf and king started, not having heard him approach.

"Only some of the Rohirrim are approaching the camp," Aragorn continued. "And those are armed with bows."

"Eomer is no fool," Gimli observed. "Most of his folk cannot approach the camp, so he seeks to sting the foe. He dares them to leave the safety of the beast's fear."

"Orcs will be reluctant to engage in battle while the sun is in the sky," Aragorn noted.

"So much the better," Gimli's grin was almost evil. "The riders can pick off orcs like hunters taking game. The foe will be all the more enraged when the sun goes down."

"You appear to be correct," Legolas noted. "The Rohirrim shoot the orcs and the orcs have trouble responding in the light. More of the foe fall and still more seek cover in the shelters they have built."

"Why don't they seek safety in the earth?" Gimli asked. "They have a crack to retreat into."

"I know not the thought of the orcs," Aragorn admitted.

"Perhaps a question to be asked of our prisoner," Gimli suggested.

"I'll go," Legolas offered. "I have not yet had the chance to converse with him. I've never had a long conversation with an orc."

Quiet as a shadow, the elf slid from the vantage point and returned to the encampment. Once there, he found the prisoner and posed the question to him.

"Would you want to duck into that crack if Shelob were in there?" He asked the elf. "Shelob isn't my folks' creature. She'll eat orc as quick as she'll eat man or dwarf, elf or beast. If she's hungry, my folk will keep their distance."

"So why do your folk make camp so close?"

"She's no beast," Shagrat told him. "If you offer her a prisoner, she'll leave everyone else be. She understands that the orcs will provide for her. She might even understand the situation with the men down the valley, who knows? If she chooses, she'll head down to your camp and scatter your folk, so they won't threaten her. It's hard to say what she'll decide to do."

"So if the orcs have prisoners, we must rescue them before they're fed to her?" Legolas asked.

"Do what you will," Shagrat sneered. "I know what your folk are like when it comes to rescuing slaves and prisoners."

"What does that mean?" the elf demanded of the orc.

"You lot think that we have no lore," Shagrat shook his head. "That we don't remember the past. We remember and we listen when others talk. Spend enough time in a dungeon, and you'll find at least one guard who wants to impress the others with his knowledge. Well, we know where my folk came from, don't we? Way back before the sun and the moon, one of those great powers from the west liked to ride about Middle Earth, didn't he? Well, he spooked some of the elves and they fled away and Sauron's master got his hands on 'em, didn't he? He changed those elves and made the orcs."

"I've heard such lore," Legolas admitted.

"So that makes one wonder, why didn't the elves make a place for the orcs back when Sauron was a prisoner on that island out in the sea, during the second age?" Shagrat glared at his questioner. "Whenever the elves or the men of the west were on top, they didn't do anything for my folk. Oh, this last go around, I heard about some men from a place called Dunland getting forgiven, as well as the men from away east. I heard about the mighty king giving the slaves from down south in Mordor the lands they had been working...all so generous. But what about the orcs? We're only worth killing, aren't we? Is it any wonder my folk fight you, finding any shelter they can, serving any power that can give them a chance?"

"You raid the lands of man, elf and dwarf," Legolas countered.

"And men have never raided the lands of elf, dwarf or man?" Shagrat asked. "Elf has never fought man, man has never fought dwarf and dwarf has never fought elf? I've heard talk that all have happened. Yet after it all, man, dwarf and elf seemed to let each other live. When you folk fight the orc, you seem to think you have to leave nothing but corpses behind."

"You do the same to us," Legolas growled at the orc. "I've seen what your folk do to prisoners."

"And who's to say who started it all?" Shagrat countered. "Was it orc, elf, dwarf or man? If it was orc, were my folk doing what the dark lord, or his master ordered us to do? Your folk have never been slaves, so all this talk of mercy and pity doesn't really mean anything. When you serve a power that will skin you alive for showing mercy, you quickly learn to show no mercy. When you serve a power that will kill you for failure, you quickly learn to make sure you don't fail."

Shagrat looked at the elf for a few minutes. "What happens if that goes on for generation after generation? Learning that you cannot show any mercy? Learning that you cannot fail for pain of death? If your folk had been under the dark lord, would you have turned out any different than my folk? It seems the powers of the west didn't really think of this when they crushed that great fortress to the northwest, the one forged by the eye's master. They rescued the men and the elves, allowed the dwarves to go on, but did they try to free the orcs? Of course not, they just turned their backs and didn't bother when Sauron put us under his thumb."

"Why do you ask these things of me, orc?" The elf demanded.

"Just this, elf," the orc growled back. "What are you going to do when you crush that camp down in the valley? What if there are shes or young to be found, what happens to them? Don't my folk have any sort of right to live?"

"What else is to be done?" Legolas asked. "You raid and despoil wherever you live!"

"So what if we fled?" He asked. "What if we ran away, say so far south that we'd be out of the sight of the west, where elf and dwarf don't roam?"

"What could compel you to flee that far?" Legolas asked.

"Survival," Shagrat snorted. "We'll never live as long as your lot can find us, the only way for my folk to live is to bugger off."

"Master elf," one of the rangers interrupted. "The king bids you come to him at the lookout. He has need of your eyes."

With a last look at the prisoner, Legolas hurried to the lookout, crawling the last several feet.

"The orcs have rallied," Aragorn told him, gesturing towards the valley. "Eomer retreats before them."

"I see very few riders taking any hurt," the elf reported. "The retreat is orderly, not routed by terror.

"So the beast remains in her den," Gimli concluded. "Eomer retreats, perhaps trying to draw the orcs away?"

"That would be my guess," Aragorn agreed. "I cannot believe that the orcs will go far from their camp during the day. We must be ready to act when the sun lowers. At that time, the orcs may seek to raid the camp."

"Then preparedness is the order of the day," Legolas stated. "Why don't the two of you return to the camp? I need no sleep and can keep watch here."

Dwarf and king did as suggested. Once back at the encampment, Aragorn called his captains together to make plans.

"Should the orcs rally and move on our encampment again, we will attack the camp below us," he said. In that case, we will seek to cleave through any who remain and gain entrance to the burrow. Once inside, the dwarves will lead." He paused a few moments. "Should Shelob herself emerge, we will close in behind her and seek to strike her while the orcs attack the camp. Shelob is the key to our struggle. Without her, this is merely a band of orcs, which Gondor and Rohan are well able to deal with."

Looking up, he noted that Shagrat was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

He didn't have time for long contemplation. He continued to plan with his captains, determining which unit would perform which task depending on the actions the foe took. They continued to plan and discuss as the sun lowered in the west. As shadows grew in the valley, a scout ran into camp.

"The orcs move, my king," he reported. "They march in force down the valley."

"Is there any sign of the beast?" Aragorn asked, rising and striding towards the lookout point.

"None, my king," the scout answered. "The elf cannot see the creature, either."

Aragorn merely nodded as he rushed to the lookout. Minutes later, he crouched next to Legolas.

"They march," the elf simply stated. "I can see only a couple score remaining in camp.

"Prepare the force." Aragorn murmured to one of his guards. "We must be ready to move within two hours."

The guard scrambled to obey while Aragorn watched the main host continue its march down the valley. As the sky grew darker, he led his men down towards the encampment. Tensions were high as they approached. While all of the men that Aragorn had chosen to accompany him had proven capable of enduring Shelob's terror, the fear was still present, making the night seem darker and the noises in it more menacing. Still, they kept on course until a coarse snarl from in front of them told them that they had been spotted.

The band sprang into action as they had prepared, forming a wedge pointed at the orcs' camp. It rasped at Aragorn's honor to not be at the point, but he bowed to the necessity and remained just behind the front rank. The orcs were not prepared for a sudden attack and the wedge cut down several as man, dwarf and elf rushed through the foe's camp and reached the tunnel's entrance. As planned, the dwarves now took the lead with Gimli at the very front, plunging into the blackness under the earth. The men formed around the tunnel entrance, side to side, creating a barrier of shields and sharp spears to prevent the foe from reaching the tunnel. Here, the first piece of dire news became known.

"The orc escaped," one of the guards bowed to Aragorn. "Punish me for my failure, my king, but as we forced our way through the camp, he broke free of my grip and escaped."

"He knows our plans!" Legolas reminded Aragorn, loosing a shaft and dropping one of the foe, causing others to seek shelter.

"It's too late to worry about that!" Aragorn replied, overcoming a sudden surge of anger at the guards. "You, he pointed to the man. As your sentence, you will take your place in the front rank. As you could not guard one orc, you will regain your honor by facing many, and armed."

"Aragorn!" Gimli's voice sounded from the tunnel. "We have found a chamber within! We can shelter any wounded here and use it as a position to assemble and rally!"

"Legolas, with me!" Aragorn told his friend, striding towards the tunnel entrance. He then called for his next-in-command, ordering him to hold the entrance. Orcs were already starting to rally and test the defense.

Gimli led the way into the tunnel. After two score strides, the tunnel opened into a large room, perhaps twenty strides long and half that wide. Three trees had been dragged into this chamber and driven into the ground near the center, and they were adorned with severed ropes and covered with thick webs. Several tunnels opened in the walls, like gaping maws waiting to feast. A stench hung like dark air in the chamber and the fear was stronger. Aragorn could easily see the white around the eyes of several men and dwarves as they lit lanterns against the fearful dark.

"We must move quickly!" Aragorn reminded his selected band. "Gimli, you are in charge while we are under the earth!"

The dwarf was prepared, ordering men to defend the chamber in force. He quickly organized the strength of arms that would follow him, with several men in the center carrying torches and the rest carrying lanterns. With the hunting party prepared, Gimli led the way down the left-most opening. On occasion, other tunnels would branch off. At each of these, Gimli chose the left-most route, carving marks at the intersections to indicate the route back to the chamber. On one occasion, an opening was blocked with thick webs. Gimli took a torch and burned through, continuing his search.

Eventually, they found their way back to the first chamber, with one opening between the one they had originally entered and the one from which they had emerged. The torches had dispersed some of the stench and several wounded men now rested in the chamber. One of the wounded reported that the orcs had made several attempts to overwhelm the force holding the tunnel's entrance but had not attacked for almost an hour.

"They still have strength," he told his king. "We can hear them moving about in the dark, but they do not attack."

"A riddle that will have to wait until we deal with Shelob," Aragorn decided. "Gimli, continue the hunt."

The dwarf nodded and led them back to the original tunnel they had entered. This time, he turned right when they came to the first joining tunnel, then followed the left hand wall again. This time, he was forced to retrace his steps several times, finding intersections that they had already passed. While man and elf was quickly confused with the twisting passages, the dwarves seemed to know where they were in relation to the original chamber. They eventually found their way back again.

More men now rested in the chamber, although they did not bear wounds.

"There have been no more attacks," they reported to their king. "So we are allowing a part of our strength to rest here. No orcs appear to remain in the camp. We guess that they went in pursuit of their kin that sortied down the valley. If so, we can expect the orcs' main strength to return and fall upon us. If this be the case, we can only hope that Eomer and Faramir will guess what has happened and come to our relief."

"Send forth a few skilled rangers," the king ordered. "Have them seek to skirt the orcs and report the situation to Eomer and Faramir. Other than that, the mission remains the same. We must find the beast and put an end to her."

"Gimli," he ordered, turning back to the sturdy dwarf. "Continue the hunt. I need not tell you that we now count time, as well as the beast, as a foe."

The dwarf nodded. Two of the six openings had now been fully explored. Four remained. Gimli selected the left-most of these and continued the search.

* * *

 _My thanks to Joe Stoppinghem, for his beta reading._


	4. Chapter 4

Again, Gimli followed the left-hand wall, carefully marking every intersection. As they continued deeper into the labyrinth, the smell grew more foul and the terror grew worse. With every step, a chill settled into the very bones of man, dwarf and elf. Eyes grew wider, breathing grew more rapid and shallow and hearts beat more rapidly. The flickering shadows grew darker, every intersection promised an attack from the side that never came. Feet grew more reluctant to move.

The first man proved incapable of marching further. Weeping with shame, he simply could not force his trembling legs to carry him farther into the den. Aragorn, despite his own concerns and terror, managed to act with pity, rather than anger.

"Return to the last intersection," he ordered the man, selecting two of the most frightened-looking to accompany him. "Guard it and keep our escape clear. When the three men gathered their courage enough to follow his commands, Aragorn motioned Gimli to continue the hunt. Sweating from more than the close and cloying air, the dwarf returned to his task. A dozen more strides and the tunnel opened again, to a room ten strides long and five wide. Four man-shaped figures, wrapped in webs, hung from the ceiling. Two tunnels, other than the one from which they had entered, lay like dead eyes watching the party.

Gimli put watchers on the entrances while other men hacked at the figures hung from the ceiling. The webs were strong, resisting not only the swords of men but even the axes of the dwarves. It wasn't until Aragorn used Narsil that the webs were rent, spilling their contents onto the floor. There were three dead men and one dead woman.

"Victims of the raid Captain Dossarch sought to avenge," Gimli guessed. "The orcs must have brought them here to feed the beast."

"More likely bound to the stakes in the first chamber," Aragorn suggested, his face grim. "Left for Shelob to drag off. I cannot picture orcs bringing her victims so far into her den, risking providing her with yet more flesh to feast upon."

"All the more reason to slay her, quickly," Gimli stated.

"So we continue to hunt," Aragorn agreed. "Lead on!"

But there was now another problem. Most of those with Aragorn, their nerves shaken by the bodies, were unable to continue. They seemed unable to even return the way they had come. For several heartbeats, Aragorn's determination failed him, he was unable to decide his actions when screams sounded from the tunnel they had emerged from, deciding for him.

"The guards we left behind!" He roared, rushing back the way they had come. "Gimli, Legolas, with me! The rest of you, stay here and guard your fellows!"

Dwarf and elf followed on his heels while the remainder of the force tried to master their fear. For a moment, it seemed fitting to the king that he should face the beast in this manner; accompanied by the two valiant companions that had run across Rohan, ventured through the Paths of the Dead, fought on the Pelennor and had faced the Towers of the Teeth with him. By the time Aragorn reached the intersection, two men were motionless on the floor while the third, cowed by a gleaming cluster of baleful eyes, slumped weakly against one wall.

For all her age, Shelob was capable of learning. Years earlier, she had been so engrossed upon a hobbit that she failed to note another until his blade struck her flesh. She was aware of the approaching huntsmen and lashed out with one of her great legs. Narsil met the limb and bit deep, but not deep enough. Aragorn was struck and sat, dazed, on the tunnel floor.

Gimli, directly behind him, swung his ax. The limb, weakened by the sword's cut, yielded to dwarven steel swung with dwarven strength and rage. Yet Shelob had limbs to spare, she lunged with frightening speed, her great beak looming over the dwarf. But Gimli was not without hope, as Legolas rushed up from behind him and slashed his long knives at the glimmering cluster of eyes. Shego pulled her great head back, giving the dwarf reprieve.

Now dwarf and elf stood side by side, long knife and cruel ax lashing at the best. Though the blades that lashed at her this moment were not forged with the arts that had formed Sting, they were wielded with skill and strength. Elven knife pierced while dwarven ax cleaved, forcing the great beast back. Shelob was a hunter, not a fighter; she had no taste for prey that contended her feeding with steel and courage. When Aragorn rejoined them, carrying Narsil in one hand and a torch in the other, she turned to flee.

Her escape would not be as easy as when she contended with Samwise the hobbit. She was not being pursued by a tiny hobbit, exhausted from a long journey and after struggling against a treacherous foe. She was pursued by a hardy man, dwarf and elf, veterans of many long journeys and desperate battles. Skuttering through her tunnels, she could not outpace the pursuit. Knife, sword and ax lashed at her trailing legs, triggering pain, fear and finally, anger.

Upon suddenly reaching another room, she rose to her entire height and lashed forward with her lethal sting. Fortunately for the companions, her target was Gimli the dwarf. His mail turned the point, even though the force of the blow hurled him against the cavern wall. Narsil flashed and the sting fell to the ground. Yet Shelob was not completely disarmed. Her beak lunged towards the man who had severed her sting, only to be brought up short, again, by the slash of an elven long-knife.

Another leg lunged at the elf, who dodged the blow as Narsil flashed. A claw joined the sting on the floor. Enraged, Shelob hurled her entire bulk at Aragorn. Having just severed one of her claws, the king was unable to repeat Samwise's feat of allowing her to impale herself on his blade. He was pressed against the cavern wall, battered and stunned. Unlike Sam, he had friends to aid him.

Elven blade slashed her belly. She now turned her attention on the elf, who deftly skipped back, avoiding her lunging claws and slashing his blades at her legs. Finally, she cornered him against a wall, but behind her, a dwarven ax severed another leg. But the elf was in front of her still, and the focus of her attention. She ignored the dwarf and hurled her bulk against the elf, who avoided being trapped between beast and wall by leaping atop her back. Shelob was no fool and extended her legs to their full extent, pinning the elf between her back and the ceiling.

Gimli swung his ax and another leg fell free, tumbling the beast to one side. Legolas tumbled from the foe and crawled upon the floor, searching for the long knives he had dropped. Now Shelob hurled her bulk upon the dwarf. Gimli warded her overwhelming magnitude with his ax, bracing the weapon to hold her off of him like a pole supporting a roof. Alas for him, this was not a sword, with a point to bury in the foe's flesh. The stout handle cracked beneath the strain and the vast belly cut off all other sight.

But now the great beast jerked and flailed, throwing herself off of the dwarf.

Legolas had been unable to locate his blades but his hands and fumbled upon the severed sting. With Shelob's attention on the dwarf, the elf stabbed the stinger into her side. While the point did not pierce deep enough to cause great harm, venom remained in the organ. Shelob proved to not be proof against her own poison. After hurling herself from Gimli she lay on the ground, stiff legs twitching feebly. She was unable to flee or fight as Aragorn lurched to his feet and with a single, two-handed sweep of Narsil, severed the fearsome head from the bloated body. Foul ichor hissed and bubbled on the cavern floor.

For several minutes, the three companions paused, gasping the foul air after their labors and nursing the hurts they had sustained in the battle. Finally able to move, they retraced their pursuit to the intersection, where the surviving guard remained. This man did not respond to word or touch, continuing to stare with terror at a sight nobody else could discern. Aragorn remained with him while Gimli and Legolas returned to the deepest chamber and collected the rest of the hunters. With the beast dead, they were able to master themselves sufficiently to accompany dwarf and elf back to their king. Carrying their dead and leading the maddened soldier, they made their way back to the first room. The cleaner air made the hunting party feel like men who were exiting their own tombs.

The men they found in the room rejoiced to know that the beast had been slain, even as they mourned the maddened and fallen. Aragorn learned that the time had passed quietly, with no further battle outside of the caverns.

"We will search," he declared. "We will go forth and try to find those orcs that remained at this camp while their fellows sortied to face Eomer and Faramir. We shall find Shagrat. We shall set scouts to warn us against attack."

The king then selected two more men, wood-wise and swift of foot, to seek Eomer and Faramir, so that they could know that the beast was dead and the orcs were now merely a foe of flesh and blood. With men sent to perform such tasks, Aragorn paced the perimeter and spoke to the men, nervous about what would come next. Three hours later, his answer came in the form of a scout rushing back to the camp.

"The orcs return!" He gasped. "In great numbers! They shall be here before the hour is out."

"What of Eomer and Faramir?" Aragorn demanded. "Is there any sign of them?"

"No sign, my king," the man reported. "I rushed here so that you would know of the approaching foe."

"You acted correctly," the king told him. "Men of the west! Dwarves of the Glittering Caves! Now is the time to stand firm! We hold the foe here! Backs to the cliff and face to the foe, let them come!"

Although weary, the forces of the west responded with a ragged shout and formed into a semi-circle at the cavern mouth. Then all were silent, each man facing his personal fears as battle approached.

"The foe approaches," Legolas soon whispered to the king. "I see the glimmer of moonlight on metal."

Aragorn nodded, although such dim glimmers were beyond the ability if his eyes to see. He warned those nearest him, who passed the news to their fellows. Before long, man and dwarf was ready and alert.

"They pause," Legolas added, after a few minutes. "They know not our numbers and cannot feel Shelob's terror. If we slew such as she, they wonder how they will fare against us."

"Let them pause for another hour," Gimli muttered. "I prefer to fight orcs when the sun shines."

Gimli did not get his wish. The foe only waited for another twenty minutes before surging forward. They were fierce and bloodthirsty, but they did not attack with the reckless abandon that Aragorn had faced before. Curved, orc scimitar met the straight blades of men. Spears thrust and axes cleaved. Shields and mail turned point and blade; blood spilled. Aragorn stood with Gimli and Legolas, just behind the line of men, rushing to wherever the line wavered or the the battle was thickest. After several minutes, the enemy fell back.

There was no respite for the men of the west. They dragged their wounded back into the cave and drew in their line, covering a smaller perimeter with their reduced numbers and the enemy struck again, then yet again. Three times the men of the west pulled their wounded to safety. Three times they shortened their line and, with reduced force, prepared themselves for another test of arms. On the fourth attack, with their line crumbling, the first light of the dawn shining over the eastern horizon and the orcs rallying for victory, Eomer and Faramir drove their host into the back of the orcs' ranks.

In a heartbeat, the orc host was sundered and scattered. Some of the fragments fought, others scattered and fled while still others sought to cut their way free. There was hard fighting still and men yet fell, but before the sun reached noon, the orc host was nothing more than a handful of foes fleeing through the fair woods. Yet, the labors for the men had only begun.

Gimli led dwarves and stout men back into the tunnels, to search out all of the dark tunnels and foul chambers beneath the earth, bringing the dead out for proper burial under the sun. It was a long labor, as the great beast had delved a vast labyrinth in the earth. Yet the dwarf was persistent and exact, carefully mapping the tunnels and chambers, assuring himself that every corner and cranny had been searched. It took many days and when Gimli was convinced that all had been searched, he led a team of strong men and dwarves and dragged the carcass of the great spider from her den to be burned on a vast pyre.

Faramir and Eomer took charge of most of the men of Gondor and Rohan. Those who had taken wounds were attended to with such skill that was available. Those who were capable of travel were sent, with escort, back to Osgiliath and then Minas Tirith. The names of those who had taken hurts that would leave them permanently maimed were recorded, so that they would receive a stipend from the crown. The families of those who had fallen would receive payment from the king himself, as well as condolences and praise. The camp shrank as regular bands of men returned home.

When the last were prepared to leave, Eomer announced that he would not ride back to Minas Tirith, even though his new bride awaited him there. Instead, he would ride with this brother-in-law to Emyn Arnen, there to greet the sister he had not seen for far too long and to see his nephew, Elboron, who he had not seen at all.

While man and dwarf labored around the camps, Aragorn and Legolas first set to the grim task of locating Shagrat among the dead foe. When he was not among those fallen on the battlefield, they led wood-wise men in searches through the fair hills, hunting what few foes had escaped the battle. It was a long task, as some of the orcs proved canny and cunning. It often took over a day to trace down each outlaw. After several long days of searching and hunting, they faced a different mystery.

The king had not lost his skill as a ranger, and found a trail of faint orc boot-prints leading to the east, away from the battlefield. Although wind and weather had frayed at the trail, the king determined that a strong host of the foe had passed, marching in single file too make any tracker think that they were fewer. Aragorn and his party followed the trail for two leagues and it did not waver, heading directly for the pass of Cirith Ungol. The king bade one of his men to ride hard back to the encampment an to gather the men needed to eliminate this last band of the foe, but Legolas asked him to show mercy.

"They have lost the only protection they knew," he told his friend. "I ask you, let them flee away. I may live to regret this, but I feel that they will go far away from the lands of men. There has been enough blood shed. Have we become so thirsty for battle that we will pursue a broken and fleeing foe?"

Aragorn still seemed ready to pursue until Legolas asked him. "Have we thrown down the dark lord only to become something as harsh as he was?"

Aragorn looked long and hard at his friend, before calling for a small band of skilled rangers. "Trail the orcs," he told them. "If they leave Ithilien, let them go without hurt or hindrance. Should they tarry, let them know they are being pursued. Should they halt and attempt to create a stronghold, return for me."

"Mayhap you're right," he told the elf. "Perhaps the time has come to look at all deaths as evil, even the deaths of orcs. Let us no longer slay orcs merely for being orcs."

* * *

"So what do we do now?"

Shagrat glared at his questioner. The other orc was a touch taller than the former Captain of Cirith Ungol, but nowhere near as broad or as strong. Shagrat had already been forced to smack both respect and sense into him, so the question had been asked with a touch of respect.

"We live," Shagrat told him. "We get out of the west."

"That's a mighty long slog," the other orc told him. "Made longer by bringing the shes along."

"It beats dying," Shagrat told him. "If we stay here, we die. There's no place for orcs in the world of men. We cross into Mordor, turn south and keep going until we're past the sea and the mountains to the south. Once we're that far away, we set up and live. "

"We had a strong host back there," the other argued.

"That's probably dead by now," Shagrat snarled back at him. "I spent years as a prisoner, I saw what kind of host the bloody tarks can form. And before you tell me that I went soft while I was their, remember the bit o' wisdom I pounded into you a bit ago."

"So why didn't you warn the rest of the host?" The other orc rubbed his head while talking.

"Something had to keep the tarks off of us while we got away," Shagrat growled. "I'm sure that dealing with her ladyship and the host took those bold men a day or so. Cleaning up afterwards probably took them even longer. We gotta get moving again, and take care that the shes are safe!"

The other orc grumbled, but did as he was told. Shagrat stood to the side as his band of orcs marched past him, burdened with all of the food and other goods they could carry. He grinned as he thought about his group. Most orcs would think that he got the short end of the stick, as most of the fighters had gone to confront the enemy's main camp. He was stuck with the others; the shes and the smiths, the healers and the laborers. It wasn't a band that he would want to take into battle, but it was a solid band for setting up a new stronghold.

He looked back the way they had come, trying to spot any movement, any hint that pursuit had found them. He hoped that the fighters had put up a good scrap, the sort that took a long time to finish and would have the men licking their wounds for a long time. He hoped that Shelob had proved to be nasty prey, the sort that killed the boldest that hunted her. But hopes weren't worth the spit he dropped on the ground, so he kept his band moving.

He wondered about orcs other than his band in the world. There were still some to be found in some of the delves in Mordor, and Shagrat hoped that at least some of them would see the sense of getting away and join his band. He was sure that there were still some to be found in the Misty Mountains, even if they were scattered and weak. All would fall before men before too many more years had passed. Like he had told his reluctant follower, there was no room for orcs in this new world of men. For the first time, he realized that the fate of the entire orc race probably rested with his band and on his shoulders.

It was a harsh thought but his years as the Captain of the Tower of Cirith Ungol had made him used to tough decisions and a rough life. He'd make them pull through.

After one last look, Shagrat turned his back on the west for the last time.

FINIS

* * *

 _Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for reading. At this, the end, I'd like to thank Joe Stoppinghem for his beta efforts._

 _Until my next tale, best wishes,_

 _daccu65_


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